


noontime sun

by savemeaplate



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anal Sex, Aphrodisiacs, Bottom Lance (Voltron), Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Married Klance!!, Public Sex, Rough Sex, and i wont lmao, bottomlanceweek, its all very cute, minus some shit probably bc i havent actually watched season 8, our babies get married, post-season 8, seeeeexxx, they fuck in an airport bathroom on their way to their honeymoon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:40:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25474765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/savemeaplate/pseuds/savemeaplate
Summary: Antok gifts Lance and Keith a small box of chocolates at their wedding reception. Seems innocent enough.Lance and Keith are wrong.BOTTOM LANCE WEEK DAY 3: APHRODISIACS
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 511
Collections: Everything, NSFW, Voltron (Legendary Defenders)





	noontime sun

**Author's Note:**

> day three with some newly-wed klance <3 <3 <3
> 
> im on [twitter!](https://twitter.com/guardameunplato)

It’s a wedding present from Antok.

Lance should’ve paid attention to the signs—the _signs!_ —that all pointed to some supernatural galra fuckery, but he was way too distracted for that Nancy Drew shit. 

He’s married to the love of his life now. He stood across from Keith at the altar, stomach crowded with fistfuls of lightning while Keith smiled down at him (yes, **down** at him; that late space whale alien puberty was something else) with a face of wonder. Keith’s dark purple eyes, crushed amethyst run through with coal, glittered as he smiled. As he talked about how and why he loved Lance where _other people could hear_. 

They’d been so on-again-off-again once the war ended that twenty-one year old Lance would have never been able to envision with perfect clarity a future like this for the both of them. At best, anything he pictured would’ve been watery and indistinct, a cataract view. He wouldn’t have seen the lush green lawn of the Arizona villa, the white-lily wedding altar (that _he’d_ helped design, because in addition to being a fine ass mecha pilot he’d also give Martha Stewart a run for her goddamn money), his and Keith’s families sitting side by side with huge smiles on their faces, his mami crying happy tears. 

Five years after their shaky start, Lance can say with full confidence that being with Keith is like standing in the direct path of a noontime sun in the thick of July without ever wanting to run for shade. Nobody had ever told him that love could be like this—incandescent, a type of bright that makes your eyes water and pumps your soul full to bursting. To be fair he’s not sure anybody could have ever explained it to him, really. It’s something he had to feel to know about.

So Lance is distracted y’all! At the ceremony he’s too busy choking up in the middle of his vows and then trying to tamp down his dick’s Pavlovian response to Keith’s deal-sealing kiss (because the priest’s _right there_ and so are his abuelos) to ever even _consider_ that Keith’s galra fam might have something devious planned for them.

At the reception, even after Antok literally walks up to where they’re seated at the dais and hands them the small, wrapped box with a salacious grin on his rugged face, he’s too busy proving to Keith that he’s still the Heavyweight Tequila Shot Champion and threatening his new husband with divorce over Keith’s love of fondant (who the fuck _likes_ fondant?) to think much of it.

Lance’s tía Isabel has a beachfront property in Santiago de Cuba (he remembers it fondly as the first place he’d ever gotten cross-faded with his primos, on a summer trip from the Garrison), and that’s where he and Keith will be spending their honey-moon. 

They stumble back to their one-night room at the Villa, exhausted by the day, giddy with it. They manage to take a nap, Lance snuggled into Keith’s chest, for a couple of hours before they wake up to get ready for their red-eye flight. Lance is the first to wake up and get ready. He’s lounging on the bed scrolling through his phone while Keith’s in the shower, already changed into some more casual clothes.

Antok’s wrapped box catches his eye on the nightstand, a deep purple that’s almost black. Lance scoots over, tears it free of the wrapping, and pops it open. Several pieces of what appear to be dark chocolate are arranged grid-like on white tissue paper. Lance pops one into his mouth, because chocolate and Keith’s dick are two of the highest items on his priority list.

It doesn’t taste like chocolate.

A sort of mixed-berry fusion bursts across his tongue, something like mango and blueberry. It catches him off guard (just imagine biting into a peach and hot fudge comes oozing out Venom-style), but it’s not at all unpleasant. In fact, it’s actually pretty good! He has a few more while idly scrolling through his phone, holding his gold band up to the light. Holy shit he’s somebody’s _husband!_

Keith comes out of the shower, towel slung low on his hips with his hair still dripping.

Lance crawls to the edge of the bed with the box in his hand, kneels up so he’s eye-level with Keith.

“Okay, _you_ are about to lose your goddamn mind,” Lance tells him. Keith raises a brow, and Lance brings a piece of the chocolate-fruit to his lips before he can say anything.

Keith’s eyes light up as he chews. “Oh shit!”

“Right?!”

“Honestly I’m not sure how you’re keeping it together right now. When we went to Cedar Coasters you had tears in your eyes when you bit into that churro and there was hotdog meat inside it.”

“Okay, one: that thing was an abomination, you’re lucky I didn’t ditch you for the church across the street to swish my mouth out with holy water. Two, am I _really_ in the wrong for not wanting to put ground-up pig elbow skin and Elmer’s glue into my body?”

“Oh don’t be ridiculous, Lance. The hotdog manufacturers are professionals, you wouldn’t even be able to _taste_ the Elmer’s glue.”

Lance laughs, and feeds Keith another one of the weird little chocolates, fingers lingering on his husband’s lips till Keith grabs his wrist and nips at them, sends Lance into a fit of giggles. 

Keith gets dressed (in some jeans and that tight ass gray polo that Lance likes a whoooole lot), and they’re off. Their automated taxi drops them off at their airport terminal without a hitch. So seamlessly, in fact, that they show up almost an hour before the doors close. For Lance, who’s only ever made it onto flights with spots in his eyes and stitches in his sides from his buzzer-beating sprints to his gates, it’s quite the achievement.

They land in Santiago hours later, and even though Lance usually feels super anxious on aircrafts that he’s not piloting, he’d felt relaxed the whole time. A warm calm mixed into the marrow of his bones, head leaned against Keith’s shoulder while he dozed off more than once.

It’s almost six a.m. by the time they’ve gotten all their stuff together. The airport’s mostly empty, calm. Lance leaves Keith with their bags to run to the little lion’s room.

It starts off as nothing more than a little bit of ignorable heat under his collar. He doesn’t think anything of it as he’s peeing, as he’s washing his hands. He figures the AC must just be a little off.

He’s drying his hands when he feels it getting worse, the heat spreading along his neck and to his face now. Dribbling into his stomach, down past his stomach to… oh fuck, _here?_

Lance is nooo stranger to ill-timed boners, so he squares himself away inside a stall for a bit, drops down onto the closed lid of the toilet to try to wait it out, will it away.

Five minutes pass. Fifteen minutes. Twenty, and it seems like things are only getting worse. He’s harder than he’d been before, tenting the front of his pants already. How the fuck is this happening right now? It’s unlike anything he’s ever felt, not even when he’d still been a teenager and these things were fairly common. What’s triggering this? He catalogues the moments from the day in the problem-solving, life-or-death fashion he’d refined in space: woke up with a huge grin on his face, had his sisters do his make-up, got married to the hottest guy in the universe, went back to the villa room with Keith to nap, ate some of that chocolate-fruit—

Lance’s eyes widen. 

Antok’s present. 

He groans. So _that’s_ what the suggestive grin had meant.

Lance goes to text Keith, but before he can hit send he hears someone else come into the bathroom.

“Lance?”

And Lance feels himself twitching in his pants because that voice… low, raspier than usual, half-growly… that’s Keith’s _Sexy Time Voice_ , tinged with just a hint of desperation. Aw hell.

“In here, babe!” Lance unlocks his stall door.

Keith’s face is flushed, blots of pink along the fair skin of his high cheekbones. And before Lance can figure out whether the deep purple nubs he thinks he sees protruding from his husband’s mop of black hair are a trick of the light or not, Keith’s urging him back into the stall with a hand on his stomach. Clicking the door locked behind them.

Gripping Lance’s hips and mouthing at his neck, rumbling,

“ _Shit_ , baby, I need—”

Lance turns to press his face against one of the walls of the stall, sticks his ass out to Keith while he hastily unzips himself to get a hand into his underwear.

“ _Yes,_ ” Lance whimpers.

Keith wrenches Lance’s pants and briefs down so they’re hugging his thighs just under the curve of his ass. Keith pauses to give him a rough kiss, wet and smacking and full of tongue.

Lance bites his lip because he _knows_ what he must look like to Keith with his pants down right now. Keith’s always been particularly vocal about how much he loves Lance’s ass (and because Lance’s life is apparently a fucking movie now, Keith’s woken him up more than once with his face buried between Lance’s cheeks while he’s rousing to consciousness on his stomach, wet tongue stuffed inside him while Lance moans and drools into his pillow, morning light just starting to trickle in through their window).

This time is no exception.

“ _There_ it is,” Keith notes breathily, a hand firm against Lance’s chest while the other grips a plump cheek, “ _there’s_ my pretty ass.”

Lance’s hand speeds up on his cock at the praise, and he moans.

“ _Baby,_ need you in me, _please_...”

Keith brings warm, slick fingers to his hole, teases it open till he can squeeze first one thick digit, then another into Lance. Fucks Lance with them and scissors them apart to prep him, so good (always _so good_ ) that Lance has to stop stroking himself because he doesn’t want to cum till Keith’s inside him.

Keith’s not one to carry lube on his person (that’s more _Lance’s_ thing), so Lance does somehow find the mental space to wonder what Keith’s using… till it hits him, a mango smell reminiscent of the taste of the chocolate-fruit from before. 

When Keith momentarily pulls his fingers free of Lance, Lance turns around to find Keith’s big, hard cock flushed and leaking with precum, _lots_ of precum, between his thighs where he’s pushed his jeans down to free it. Lance feels another bolt of heat rush down into his stomach as he watches his husband collect some of his clear, sticky precum on his fingers, spread it around to liberally coat them (fucking hell, it’s so much), and bring them back to Lance’s hole. Keith’s using nothing but the proof of his own arousal to spread Lance open for his cock. It’s so _dirty_.

Lance got it right with this one. 

“You’re way too _loud_ , sweetheart,” Keith tells him. Shit, is that desperate, slutty whine really coming from _him?_

Keith moves the hand he’d had on Lance’s chest to his face, clamps his palm over Lance’s mouth while he frees the fingers of his other hand from Lance’s clenching heat once more.

“Your pretty ass ‘s always so _tight_ for me, baby… my favorite place to be…” 

Lance’s hands ball up into fists and his dick throbs between his legs as Keith shoves into him in a single, unyielding thrust. He whines into Keith’s hand, rocked onto his tippy toes by the force. 

Keith breathes raggedly against Lance’s neck while Lance’s eyes flutter shut and he moans into Keith’s palm. No matter how many times he takes this cock (and he takes this cock a whooole lot), he can never get over how good it feels to be stuffed full of it. To have Keith against his back, murmuring praises into his skin as he splits him wide.

Right now Keith’s desperate and most of the filthy shit he says come in the form of bitten off growls, like he’s too distracted by the clenching heat of Lance’s hole to focus. Lance whines at that thoughto, and at his husband’s cock hitting his sweet spot. 

“Take it so good, you take it _so good_ , baby,” Keith groans.

They’re both panting and hungry for it. Keith pulls back slowly, so Lance can feel the drag of every single inch of cock against his walls.

But it’s anything but slow from that point on.

Keith drives into Lance so hard, so ruthlessly, that Lance is sure anybody outside the bathroom door can hear the sound of his ass clapping, hitting Keith’s thighs over and over again with the filthiest, most telling _smack smack smacks_.

When Lance finds the motor control to take his own dick in hand he has no hope of lasting. None, not with Keith so heavy and big inside him, precum-slick cock pounding into his hole with these juicy _squelching_ sounds that can truly only be associated with a brutal fucking. Fuck, he’s leaving Lance so _wet_. And he hasn’t even cum inside him yet. 

Lance wants Keith to finish inside him. Doesn’t care about how terribly impractical it is. Wants to ride to the beachfront property still leaking Keith’s cum. He’d be dripping by the time they got to the house, ready to go again. Maybe Keith will fuck him on the floor of the front hallway as soon as they get in, press Lance to the ground with his legs spread open and pound him till he’s sensitive and screaming. 

He’s already incredibly close to the edge when Keith nips at the shell of his ear, growls,

“‘S right, baby. You’re my pretty slut, huh? Always take every inch of this cock with no trouble, don’t you baby? Always tight as a fucking dream...”

Lance cums hard against the wall of the stall with a shout, muscles of his ass clenching around Keith.

“ _Yes_ , baby,” Keith groans, crushing Lance to his chest as he starts to cum too, cock buried inside his husband.

Keith slumps over Lance, and they try to catch their breaths. 

"What the _fuck_ was that?" says Keith, when he can speak again.

"Fucking Antok."

"Wait.." Keith huffs a laugh a things start to click into place for him too, "Christ."

Keith pulls out. Lance turns to lean against the wall, watches Keith grab some toilet paper. Lance threads his fingers through Keith's hair as his husband starts to wipe the cum and slick from between his thighs. The cute little purple nubs are gone. Interesting.

"Gotta say," Lance remarks, “didn’t think our first official fuck would be in an airport bathroom.”

Keith scoffs as he tosses the tissue into the waste bin. “Our ‘first official fuck,’ Lance? I’ve literally been inside you more times than I can count.”

“Mmmm doesn’t ring a bell. I saved myself for marriage. All my body parts reset at approximately 7:56 p.m. yesterday.” 

“Oh you are not getting a _second_ of sleep when we get to the house.” 

Lance peers up at Keith through his lashes. 

“Promise?”

Lance yelps, then whimpers as Keith reaches around and stuffs him full of three thick fingers without so much of a warning. Plunges them in, plays in the wet mess he’d made of Lance’s hole. 

“Promise,” Keith murmurs. 


End file.
